Interim Period
by BlackCavern
Summary: Transitioning from being a manakete to a human was a rough process filled with annoyances. And being stuck as a heirophant of the religion that butchered his name certaintly wasn't helping matters.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: This occurs during the period of the game where Grima would've been doing nothing beyond waiting around for things to fall into place. Also, the point of this fic is to explore manakete in general and Grima's transition into occupying a human body.**

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Plegia really wasn't as dark and gloomy as most people made it out to be, the Plegian palace was, but the country itself was actually quite normal. But it was this sort of day in particular that probably inspired those shady damp images.  
The sky was the epitmone of depression. It wasn't quite raining but the air was filled with a mist that would drench any idiot wandering outside to the bone none the less.

Grima wasn't entirely sure why he was being one of those classified idiots who was walking around in such miserable weather, but perhaps it was curiosity. Despite the popular opinion of manakete being omniscient deities, boredom was as unfortunate an infliction on their species as any other. That and a persistant agitation.

Too many factors were out of his control for Grima's comfort. He was stuck inside a human body in an unfamilar country with a microscopic portion of his power, after all.

He couldn't do much about the human body part. In all honesty, he should be grateful to have a body at all, anything was better than being reduced to a soul bound together by memories. It was quite sad really, Grima hadn't expected to feel this out of place in a human body. After all, in his old life, he had prefered his manakete form over his dragon form, and aside from the pointed ears, it looked almost exactly like a human. But from a sensation point, Grima would probably feel the same had he been reborn inside a cat.

It really was incredibly helpful that he spent all that time believing he was a human. Looking back, his entire second childhood was little more than a test trial for his new body. If he thought the awkwardness upon regaining his memories was annoying, he didn't want to imagine how it would have been had he just been handed a human body. Moving around had initially felt horribly clunky and unmaneuverable, almost as if he had weights tied to his limbs. Actions that required fine motor skills felt jerky, as if the joints in his fingers were sticking. But eventually, all of his movements smoothed out and he began to regain his reaction speed; actually, his reflexes weren't so bad to start out with as his human persona had been quite the accomplished soldier. What bothered him was his complete lack of strength. He really didn't know how strong the average human was, the only humans who had physically struck him were wielding some particularly magical weapons.

The strength set back had nearly driven him crazy when he traveled through time. Back in the future, he had used magic for everything so he didn't need any physical strength. Not to mention that during the time before he overcame the massive movement dissonance, he had tried to pull a metal door off its hinges; it did break off quite easily though he had nearly ripped his own arm off in his recklessness. Afterwards, for about a month or so, he had avoided using his physical self to do anything that a six year old child couldn't. Better waste a bit of extra magic than tear off his own limbs. After a time, he had gotten use to his new physical limitations, he even found ways to gradually apply power until he could once again exert his full strength.

But after his little trip through time, all the problems returned. And this time, it was arguably worse. His magic was almost entirely gone, he was still quite powerful on human mage standards, but in relation to what he was normally use to, it was the bare minimum. His physical capabilities were now entirely limited to what his human body would've originally able to handle without magical augments. He wasn't familar with Plegia's political state, nor was he use to its current geographic features. He had to rely almost completely on Validar and Grimleal high priests to update him. He didn't even look the same.

His appearance was another thing that irked him, it was extremely minute compared to everything else on his plate but it was still rather unnerving. Physically, he was a bit scrawnier than he remembered, and a few other things were a little off but that was mostly due to the choices he had made as a human. He really hadn't even noticed when he was in the future. But now in the past, what with the impact that Validar is the father of his human body smacking him over the head, it truly began to bother him. His pale pallor looked pratically unhealthy next to Validar and Aversa. He appreciated the fact that his physical form still looked the same, anything famliar was something welcomed. Perhaps it was just Validar being Validar, but the idea of an offspring looking so dramatically different from his parent seemed unnatural.

One of the first things he had asked Validar was whether or not he would like to be addressed as "Father". To Grima, it really wasn't a big deal, it's not as if he had any memories of his real parents to get in the way. Validar had predictably let him do as he pleased. As odd as it probably would appear, it made Grima feel better to know that in his old life at least, he had parents at all.

If the reduction of his magic and physical strength drove him up a wall, and his lack of knowledge of the political atmosphere unnerved him, then one more thing distressed him day and night: his inability to transform. He hadn't ever noticed it before, not even in the future. Only now, when completely stripped of any method of transforming into or maintaining contact with his dragon form, did he realize how gutted he felt. It was like he was missing an arm or a leg, like there was a literal hole in him. At first he had just felt a bit more on edge, forced into cautiousness due to his lack of power. But now, upon realizing that he was missing his dragon form, he could finally name the thorn in his side.

He felt vulnerable.

Perhaps that why he always kept a Thoron tome in his pocket at all times despite the fact that he didn't need a book to perform magic. Perhaps that was why he never left the Plegian palace if he could help it.

But at the moment, he couldn't help it. One could only stare at dark dreary stone walls for so long before one's motivation began to decay, especially when all one's required to do is sit around and wait.

So here he was, strolling along the poorer area of the capital city. He was pratically inviting trouble by walking through a maze of alley ways but perhaps that was what he was hoping for. There were too many storm clouds for him to accurately judge what time of day it was but it really made no difference. A couple of hours outside wouldn't speed up a certain blue haired Ylissian's campaign.

"Hey, Kid."

And it wasn't like they would come near Plegia, the two countries were technically allies at the moment.

"Kid!"

A rough hand landed on Grima's shoulder, causing him whip around, instinctively preparing an electrical bolt. The man who had been calling to him was nearly twice Grima's size. The handle of a knife was sticking out from under his cloak but the man looked too relaxed to be an attacker.

"Yes?" Grima asked after a moment of hesitation.

"What do you think your doing? Walking down there?" the man asked, "My goodness, did you forget what I told you yesterday already?"

"I don't believe I've ever met you." Grima replied, genuinely puzzled.

"Oh? My company of bodyguards led a group of priests through these streets yesterday." the man remarked, raising his eyebrows, "I was sure that there were some youngsters like you."

Grima couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth lifting into a small smile at the "youngster" comment. The coat of a Grimleal priest certaintly commanded respect in Plegia.

"I wasn't with that troop, in fact, I haven't been in the capital city for very long at all."

"Well you can't just be wandering around the streets alone. What will your mentor think?" the man asked, he seemed to have relaxed a great deal.

"I assure you that I have no mentor." Grima held up a small rosary that had been given to him by Validar.

The man's eyes widened, a suprised look that was out of place on a man who looked so worldly and jaded.

"A heirophant? At your age?" he asked, his voice rising in tone from his confusion.

"I'll admit that I'm rather new to the job." Grima shrugged, "But I am curious now, what's so horrible about that street?"

The man sighed, "Well, Your Holiness, it's a nasty rumor."

"Don't call me that." Grima said, a tad harsher than he had intended.

"Sorry, Holiness, but law is law." the man shrugged.

Grima sighed, what he was doing would probably be called wasting time, but it alleviated some of his boredom.

"So, what is so important about that street?" he relented.

"You won't like to hear it Your Holiness, but there's some...fanatics who might or might not be basing there." the man replied, "They're seperate from the state, going off and doing their own thing."

Grima nodded, unlike Ylisse, the Plegian order was heavily regimented, the system was more similar to a military organization than a church.

"They're worshipping Lord Grima like the rest of us but some people say that they are, well...trafficking manakete."

Grima lifted his head, "What?"

"Didn't believe it when I first heard it either but..." the man trailed off.

Annoyed at the constant gaps in information, Grima persisted, "What? If it has something to do with Grimleal than I of all people should know about it."

"It's illegal business..."

"Then why aren't the knights aware of it?"

The man's voice turned serious, "I reported it but who in their right minds would believe that a group of mages could hold down a couple of dragons?"

Grima had a few guesses how, he was willing to bet the remainder of his power that the captured manakete had had their dragon stones stolen.

"Name."

"What?" the man blinked in surprise.

"It's strange just using pronouns, what's your name?" Grima clarified.

"Roman."

"...Robin."

"Huh?"

"That's my name." Grima replied lightly.

"Oh..." Such a profound look of sadness came over Roman's face that Grima nearly flinched internally.

"My...my daughter's name is Robin." Roman finally said when Grima refused to break the silence, "My wife and I thought it was a lovely name."

"I suppose." Grima said, "Go on. I'd like to hear more."

Roman looked away, as if he were composing himself, "Your Holiness, I would like to confess something. There is something I feel that must be taken into my own hands. Though purging such evils is considered the privilage of the church."

"Why are you telling me then? Aren't you afraid that I'll report you?"

"Perhaps, though I wish for Your Holiness' blessing."

Grima paused for a moment, then shrugged, "Alright. I'll hear you out."

"My daughter, little Robin, she was always ashamed of her ears. They were rather pointed, almost like the paintings of manakete hung up in our chapel. She let her hair grow out as long as she could tolerate but they never completely covered them. I allowed her to run to the market on her own a few days ago, it was so close by, only a few minutes walk. But she never came back. I'm convinced that she was kidnapped by the manakete traffickers. They claim to be serving Lord Grima, I am a believer but I must have my daughter back. If Lord Grima sees fit to strike me down for such an act, then so be it. I've reported this to the knights, to anyone I thought could help. But nothing's come up and I can't wait and do nothing."

Roman's voice broke in his emotion. Grima remained silent, though he watched Romans' body language carefully. The gruff man who had the constitution of a brick wall seemed to be melting in front of his eyes.

But what did Grima care about some human girl?

Well, he'd be lying to himself if he said that he didn't feel anything at all. The pesky human body he was inhabiting seemed to be more susceptiable to sympathy, or maybe he had grown soft during his thousand year forced slumber.

His dislike of humans aside, there was one thing that did bother him. So called priests were using his name as justification for their rituals. He didn't care about their rituals but he had had enough of his name being used for anything. The irony of being a priest of a religion that had twisted his name was painful enough on its own.

"You don't need my blessing, no gesture of good will from me will bring your daughter back." Grima said matter-of-factly, "But I can do something for you. I'll accompany you."

"But Your Holiness! That's-" Roman started.

"My choice." Grima completed the sentence for him, "Let's just say that I take this whole fiasco rather personally. Or would you prefer to wander down into the unknown by yourself? I assure you that you won't need to protect me or even watch my back, I can handle myself. In fact, if you hadn't told me of your predicament, I was planning on heading down there by myself."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: If you haven't noticed by now, this story doesn't really have anything to do with the events in game. I just felt like writing it.**

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The street wasn't really so much a street, it was more of a downward ramp composed of broken cobblestones. Grima had traversed through a truly poor human settlement only once before, and that had been when he was much younger. All he could remember of it was a deep seated urge to cover his eyes and run. Perhaps those were the scenes that created idealists and nihilists alike.

Despite his bulk, Roman was a surprisingly stealthy man. He walked carefully without any sound, his body was tense in preperation for an ambush. Grima followed behind at a slower pace, he felt almost relaxed until he was suddenly yanked behind a wall. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a circle of priests.

"I've been scouting this area out." Roman whispered, "It's just a guise to pull attention from that door."

He pointed towards a pathetic looking wooden door off to the side. Grima could sense Roman's form locking up as they gazed upon the priests. But unlike his companion, Grima felt no spike of anger. He didn't normally go out of his way to create a trail of bodies but this has been a particularly fustrating day, so he was feeling rather pleased at the prospect of lashing out at someone. He'd said it once and he'll say it again: what did he care about humans?

"I'll break them up with magic. Keep them from getting too close."

"What-" Roman was cut off by a Thoron bolt.

The lightning lept rapidly through a system of small puddles that had gathered on the ground and pratically exploded in the circle of priests. A few were immediately killed or knocked unconcious; still, several others were still able to get up, even if they were rather singed.

Grima tsked to himself, he kept forgetting to ration his now very much limited resevoir of magic. His initial strike had been too powerful to be controlled so he pulled back. However, his last second change of mind had caused the Thoron bolt to become uneven, a hesitant contact shock followed by the bulk of the attack which had, in turn, lost some momentum.

Despite his clumsiness, the blow had been enough to disperse the enemy. Roman took care of the remainders with such swiftness that Grima didn't even get to see if they could fight back. At Roman's signal, he walked out from his hiding spot and approached the door. Just as he laid a hand on the door, something grabbed his leg. In one fluid motion, Grima swept up a nearby sword and slashed downward with such force that the unfortunate preist's ribcage was split in two.

The sword clattered to the ground as Grima pulled back with a hiss of pain. His arm and shoulder felt like they were on fire. Apparantly, he had struck too hard for his flimsy human body to handle. It was a stupid occurance that shouldn't even be able to happen, if he would end up tearing his muscles apart, why did his body even allow him to exert that much strength?

He really hated this body.

Grima sighed and snapped the door knob off of the wooden door. Human physiques were flimsy, weak, and needed constant maintance, but at least it held together. At least he had a hand to push the door in; at least he had eyes that could physically see the mold and cobwebed covered walls; at least he had all of his sense so he could smell the dank air and feel the chill coming off of the stone.

"What do you think you're-"

Before even waiting to see who it was, Grima electrocuted the speaker. He was grateful that his human self had chosen to study magic, he had shown an inordinate amount of curiosity towards the art as a manakete. So much so in fact that as a child, the elders had to confiscate his magic tomes a couple of times when he skipped his lessons to experiment with spells. But it disappointed him that Robin had neglected to study elder magic, it really was his forte. Elder magic was a preemptive sort of magic, one that drew from a supply of pre-arranged magic, unlike anima which required sudden jolts of magic and light which exerted a constant recycled cloud of energy.

Stepping over the body of the now dead person-he hadn't stopped to see if it was a man or woman, who could tell anyway with that massive cloak?-to head deeper into the warehouse. The space was surprisingly large and showed signs of definite activity. At the moment however, it was largely empty. That was, except for a mirade of cages.

A half dozen children of varying ages were huddled in the cages like animals, some looking more disheveled than others. Roman immediately rushed forward and began breaking the locks with professional efficency. But unlike Roman, Grima exhibited no sense of horror. Something else had caught his eye as he gazed upon the children.

"None of them are manakete." he said matter-of-factly.

"What?" Roman seemed to be saying that word a lot, enough to annoy Grima. The man had broken open the cages and was hugging a small girl to his chest, presumably little Robin.

"They're just human children with unusual ears, none of them are manakete." Grima repeated.

He was about to leave Roman to the kids when something, or rather someone, earned a double take. A very small girl with two long braids was standing in the back of the crowd. She looked visibly shaken but far better composed than her peers.

"You." Grima walked up to her so swiftly that she cringed a little, "What the hell are you?"

"I-um...Nah." she stuttered.

"Nah?" he exclaimed, "Nah, what?"

"My name!" she snapped back, a small amount of fire returning to her eyes, "Nah is my name. Don't look at me like that, I know it's weird."

"You're..." Grima paused, the girl definetly wasn't human but could she really be...?

"You're a half breed." he finally said.

Something about that fact tugged at Grima, something deep inside his being, something instinctive. The little half breed, Nah, reminded him of Naga. Not her appearance or how she spoke, but who she was. A hybrid of a human and a manakete.

He was disgusted at the very notion.

Grima pulled away, his ears were ringing. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of simply burning the entire warehouse to the ground, no more protests, no more half breed. But the house was made of stone with only scraps of wood here and there, it wouldn't burn quickly enough. In the time in between, Roman could probably kill him for threatening the children.

"I'm leaving." he settled on saying, "Take the children back to their family, or leave them at a chapel."

He left before anyone could say something to stop him.

Even as he speedwalked back to the Plegian palace, he couldn't understand why he had bothered with helping Roman. Initially, he had just wanted to shut up the Grimleal priests. That part of his conviction was completed, yet he didn't feel any better. So why go along with the whole fiasco?

Perhaps he just wanted a conversation, even if it was over dead bodies.

He and Validar never spoke much, there wasn't much for them to talk about. Aversa mostly avoided him, they would probably have even less to chat about. And he knew better than to get too aquainted with anyone else, he knew better than to risk rousing their suspicions.

Grima had been alone for an incredibly long time, perhaps he had simply gotten use to it over time. It hadn't bothered him much until something came to him in the original future.

Something in the form of a girl named Morgan.

Originally, he had been wary of her. After all, what sort of person would approach the Fell Dragon with such a volitale mix of twisted joy and desperation. Morgan had come to him with no real memories, no real idea of where she was or even who she was. But she did remember one thing and she had latched on to it with all her heart.

She had insisted that she was his daughter.

Grima knew that that was impossible, it was impossible for him to have had any children. That much he was absolutely certain of, especially seeing as how Morgan was completely human. But he had sensed a tiny amount of magic on her, and with what knowledge he had of Naga's time travel ritual, he began to suspect that she was from a different time. Perhaps a time where Robin existed but not Grima. She certaintly knew too much trivia about him to simply be delusional.

That didn't mean he stopped thinking that she was crazy, she didn't bat an eyelash at the chaos that his...well, revenge, created. She seemed completely set on sticking by him. And he had let her, goodness knows why, perhaps it was her odd loyalty to him. But then again, Robin seemed to be the only memory she had left, it only made sense that she would stay true to it. Even when her eyes glazed over with sorrow at the aftermath of a battlefield, even when she jumped back in fear at the sight of Risen. It was almost frightening how quickly Morgan learned to mask her fear, even if her smile became strained at times.

And like most things he had, he hadn't quite realized how accustomed he was to her constnat chatter until it was gone.

Grima shook his head, smiling a little to himself. He'd just have to get use to it. He could complain about his human body all he wanted but he was stuck with it. He missed the constant small talk from Morgan in the same way that he missed his dragon form.

What an annoying interim period.


End file.
